


Good-Sister

by FieryPen37



Series: Held Captive [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Faceless Arya, Ficlet, Post-Battle, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15836589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryPen37/pseuds/FieryPen37
Summary: Daenerys has a visit from No One, set after the Battle for King's Landing.





	Good-Sister

**Author's Note:**

> A fill-in ficlet set within the Held Captive universe where a certain Faceless Man arrives in King's Landing. I am working on more of these along with my new fics, including a Jon and Catelyn faceoff.

Good-Sister

 

 

“Hmm?” Daenerys said, rousing from a thin drowsing to the roughened burr of Jon’s voice. Mmm, she loved the cadence and timbre of it, a medley designed to soothe and rouse her.

“I said: ‘Don’t doze off in the bath, love,’” Jon said with some amusement, the press of his hard body in the water a thrilling counterpoint. Through silken hot water, wreathed in a cocoon of steam and silence, she floated in his lap. Their voices echoed along with the water’s hollow drip. After a half hour washing and scrubbing, combing and trimming and oiling, the last of the Battle for King’s Landing ebbed away. For another half hour, they drowsed in the peace of it. The bathhouse of the Red Keep was surely a wonder of the world. Blisteringly hot water piped from a furnace to fill a bath large enough for half a dozen to swim in. Mosaics depicted underwater scenes, patterned in deep navy blue.

Daenerys opened her eyes, struck again by the beauty of his face above her, softened with a gentle smile. Sunlight trickled in from shuttered windows after their first night in the capital. Clean and relaxed from a long night’s sleep and the water’s blistering persuasion, Jon looked like epitome of male beauty. Sable eyes and sooty lashes, the handsome crinkle at the corners as he smiled. White even teeth, the supple flex of his lips . . .

“Damn you, Jon Snow. You’re beautiful,” she said, tracing the softness of his lower lip with her thumb. It might have been the steamy air, but his cheeks pinked.

“Feeling better, are you?” he asked gently. Daenerys absorbed the question, and the deeper query behind it. Her dragon—her child—was dead, along with several of her closest confidantes and friends. The grief lurked there, a sodden grey cloak. It would remain for some time, but the burden lightened when Jon was near.

“Better,” she said.

Jon shifted with a musical slosh of water. Taut muscle bunched and glided beneath his skin. Here and there discolored with bruises or scrapes, but whole and alive. She lifted a dripping arm to cup his cheek. Jon stilled, covering her hand with his own. A frown bunched between his eyes.

“You don’t . . . you don’t hate me, then?” His voice was small and timid. Daenerys blinked, startled by the question. Sable eyes slid away from the burden of her gaze, even as his hand trapped hers against his face. Clinging to comfort while also rejecting it.

“Hate you?”

“Rhaegal was only close to that thrice-cursed ballista to get to _me_. He died protecting _me_.”

Jon’s free hand clenched on the stone rim of the tub. Daenerys’ throat closed. She floundered in the hot water, sloshing upright on overcooked muscles. Straddling his lap, she cupped his chin with one water-pruned hand. His black beard tickled her palm. Jon at last met her eye, radiating misery. Daenerys was caught between the twin impulses of kissing him or slapping him.

“Listen to me. You know how intelligent dragons are. Rhaegal loved you. He knew I loved you. He _chose_ to protect you, to die saving you. And I can’t h—help but be grateful for that.” The tears that always hovered close overwhelmed her, beading down her cheeks, indistinguishable from sweat or bathwater. Jon’s face spasmed in pain. His hands smoothed through the heavy, wet silk of her hair, stroking her back and hips. Daenerys pressed her forehead to his. In that hot, tender space between them, they wept for Rhaegal and all they lost.

“I love you.”

It didn’t matter who said it, who gave and who took as the heat transformed into familiar and cleansing passion. Jon’s hands stroked her belly, treasuring the miracle within. Pierced through the heart by the love and longing in the gesture, Daenerys flew and Jon with her, entwined.

Clad in warm robes, they staggered on jellied legs to their chambers, escorted by Ser Barristan and Storm-Son. Daenerys collapsed with a yawn on the heap of sleeping furs from her tent. The feather mattress and bed linens Cersei slept in had been hauled out to be burned. She stretched languorously on the furs’ musty weight, warm and relaxed as she hadn’t been in months. One hand groped for the egg buried beneath the furs. Its pearly surface pulsed warm against her palm, like a tiny heartbeat.

“Sleep a while, Dany,” Jon said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he dragged on his trousers and belted Longclaw, “I’ll speak with Robb about taking Viserion to the Eyrie once the ceremony is over.”

“Give him and Rosalin my best,” Daenerys said, curling on her side. Shutters and drapes drawn against the dawn, the room was lit by a murky half-light. Jon stood painted in thin stripes of gold sunlight. He chuckled.

“I’ll roust you soon enough. Be ready.” Jon’s low-voiced purr stroked her skin and she shuddered pleasantly, arousal a sleepy flicker in her loins.

“You as well, my love,” she replied with a slit-eyed glance. The muscles of Jon’s throat flexed around a swallow. She saw the temptation to let his responsibilities go hang and linger in bed with her. Jon exhaled a breath through his nose.

“Give me a half-hour,” Jon said.

“Hasten back,” she drawled. Her husband uttered a frustrated sound and took his leave. Daenerys was still smiling when sleep washed over her.

The click of the door latch reached her through a maze of tangled dreams. Daenerys blinked her eyes open to find one of her ladies bearing a tray of linens. She sat upright, tightening the sash of her robe. Linens? For what? The new mattress hadn’t been brought yet. Daenerys peered at the girl’s face. Handsome, young, petite with a veil of dark blond hair.

“I don’t have a need of anything at the moment. Thank you, you may go,” Daenerys said, equal parts gracious and firm. Some amongst the gaggle of her younger serving women relished the opportunity of ogling Jon in a state of undress—a habit that drove her half-mad.

“As you say, milady,” the girl said with a stumbling curtsey. A slip in proper address as well?

Daenerys rose to her feet, a curt side glance finding Dark Sister sheathed on the table near the terrace, the ruby on its repaired crossguard winking. Inwardly she chided herself for overreacting. The girl was simply flustered, judging by her flushed cheeks. Daenerys moved to the sideboard to pour watered wine, her bare feet chilled by the cold tiles.

The silvery snick of a blade sang through her.

Daenerys turned, finding the girl with a dagger drawn.

“Baring steel before your queen is a death sentence,” Daenerys said, quenching her thirst with a deep draw.

“I know.” The nonchalance of the answer raised the fine hairs on her arms, along with the chilling emptiness in those brown eyes.

“Who are you?” Daenerys asked. A smile as thin and sharp as the blade she held.

“No One,” she said.

Daenerys’ eyes flew wide. A Faceless Man? Who wealthy enough was left to send such an assassin to end her? Ice slicked her skin. Questions doubled and tripled in her mind.

“I was suspicious of you before. Why didn’t you kill me then?” Daenerys asked, gripping her fluted glass. The assassin gave a careless shrug.

“I came for answers.”

“Answers?” Daenerys repeated, taking a mincing step back. Three steps, and Dark Sister would be in hand—Quick as lightning, the assassin cut off her route with a few dancing steps. The knife blade was poised casually a hand’s span from Daenerys’ throat. Pinned with her back against the table, Daenerys spread her hands. The glass would have to do . . .

“Ask your questions.” 

“Jon Snow was given to you as a hostage,” the assassin said. Daenerys frowned.  

“Yes, over a year ago. What of it?” the assassin’s face was hard as marble, utterly expressionless, save for the coldness in her dark eyes.

“People say you share his bed,” she said. Daenerys exhaled a frustrated breath through her nose. Questioned at knifepoint over something so simple?

“He shares mine. We are wed.” That seemed to surprise her. The knifepoint wavered. Daenerys paused, considering smashing the glass and slashing at the assassin with the broken edge. She would need space, and a few heartbeats’ time. Daenerys shifted her weight to one foot, easing along the round edge of the table.

“You married him?” the assassin said sharply, jabbing the knife close. Rage churned in her belly. How _dare_ this slithering snake creep in with a knife and threaten her and her baby!

“ _Yes_! Two days ago, before the heart tree on the Isle of Faces . . . I won’t let you hurt him.” Daenerys said, breaths coming swift and fast.

“Where is he? I want to talk to him myself.”

Daenerys struck. She tossed the wine in the assassin’s face, and smashed the glass on the edge of the table. The assassin moved like smoke, like water. The pommel of the knife knocked the glass from her grip, a deft twist laying the edge against Daenerys’ chin. Wine was a dark red stain on tunic, dripping down the square planes of her face. The assassin smiled, broad and almost sweet.

“I like you,” she said, dropping the knife. She lifted a hand to her neck and pulled—Daenerys flinched, sickened as the skin peeled away . . . Daenerys blinked and the assassin looked shorter, straight-backed with brown hair and grey eyes. A shout from beyond the door and Ser Barristan and Storm-Son barreled into the room, weapons drawn. The would-be assassin sank into graceful bow.

“Hello good-sister. I am Arya Stark.”                    

 


End file.
